The Worst Foe Lies Within the Self
by Star-of-Chaos
Summary: A series of one shots starring Norman Osborn.
1. Snowflake

AN: I own nothing and no one portrayed here (with the exception of two characters mentioned in another chapter, Ava and Gail). During my time away from FF, I wrote a series of drabbles and one shots for the characters I was playing elsewhere. That site is gone, but I liked the writing enough that I wanted to keep some of it alive. These were done for Norman Osborn. The world I wrote them for is AU, so not everything here is canon.

0-o-o-o-0

"… _Mr. Osborn…"_

You wave the doctor away, not even bothering to tear your gaze away from the window. Darkness has fallen but through the light of the street lamp you can see the snow drifting down from the sky, the flakes huge and fluffy, lazily tumbling down as if they had all the time in the world, not knowing that when they land on the ground they will melt away like their brothers and sisters. So fragile, so fleeting. Maybe if you keep your concentration on them you won't let the words that the doctor hasn't said sink in, the ones you already know are waiting to come out.

 _Emily_

So happy she was, to have your child. So happy you were, for her to have it. Your lives combined in one perfect little being. Lying in his crib now, he seems so innocent. How can one tiny creature steal a grown woman's life and strength? It seems impossible, but there it is. Your son is perfect and healthy while your wife has just left this world, never having fully recovered from his birth. In the reflection in the window you can see the doctor watch you; he wonders why you aren't with her. But you are with her, or rather she is with you. Every word, every look, every memory plays in your mind as you watch the snow fall. Your hand rises and touches the cold glass of the window. The cold seeps into your skin, blessedly cold; numbing every part of you that it reaches, and that's what you want. To be numb. To let the cold creep in and numb every part that hurts, until if you opened that window and let the snow come in, the flakes that fall wouldn't melt when they touch your face, and at least their lives would be saved. Too many things had died today already.


	2. Knowledge

It's evening; dinner is finished, Norman has helped his mother with the dishes (now that they no longer have servants to take care of that), and he is in his room at his desk, the only sound being the scratch of his pencil on paper as he does his homework. Too soon the silence is broken by a smash downstairs, and he flinches. It's happened earlier than he thought it would, but then again he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. His father had started early tonight; a double shot of bourbon after he got home from the office and didn't stop once he started. Norman got up from his desk and put a record on the player, but the classical music only muted out the noise downstairs. It did nothing to drown out the sound of his mother crying when she ran to lock herself in her and his father's bedroom. Norman's jaw clenched, anger and frustration burning like acid deep down inside, but what could he do? He was just a kid. Call the cops? Yeah, right. They'd just blow it off like they did last time; just a little domestic spat, nothing to get involved in. And then his father would take it out on _him_. No, his mother might be resigned to stay where she is, too weak to help herself and get out, but not Norman. He was going to escape, and his way out was right at his fingertips. His grades were good enough that he made the honor roll every semester, and he planned to keep it up, until his academic record was so bright that the Ivy League schools would be lining up at his door with full scholarships. Knowledge; it was his route to freedom, and he would ride it like a magic carpet out the door, and leave this house and everyone in it far behind.


	3. Thanks

It took nine months, then fourteen hours of labor, but one of the happiest days of Norman's life had arrived. The labor had been hard; despite his distaste of the whole process he had stayed by his wife's side the entire time. Emily was not a strong woman physically, and with the long labor taking its toll on her Norman had been willing to do whatever she wanted to help her along, but all she seemed to want was him beside her. She slept now, weakened greatly, skin pale with a sheen of sweat still clinging to her face, and Norman's attention turned to what lay in the bassinet next to her bed, the reason for all of her exertions.

His son was strong and healthy, with smooth creamy skin, a full head of dark hair and blue eyes that looked up into his wonderingly. Such a beautiful child, the blending of Emily and himself, that Norman was almost afraid to pick him up. People talked about children being their immortality, about dynasties, but he had never understood until now. Here was the future, his and Emily's. He had a responsibility to make a good life for his son. And he would. Norman would do better than his own father had; he would make sure his son could grow up strong and confident and proud of who he was, instead of trying to make up for his father's failures.

Looking at their child, Norman felt overwhelmed. Love blended with pride and fear but bleeding through that mix was gratitude, and he gave their child a smile before turning back to his sleeping wife. Her breathing was soft and even now, but the dark circles under her eyes told of the long struggle she'd gone through. Not wanting to wake her, Norman bent down and ever so gently brushed his mouth against her forehead.

"Thank you." he whispered softly, and while it was only two words, there was more meaning and emotion in them than he could ever fully express.


	4. Tremble

"DAAAD!"

Your voice echoes in the empty house after your father locks the door, the sound of his feet leaving the porch the last thing you hear before you're totally alone. Your hands tremble as you shake the doorknob; hard as you can you shake and shake, hoping and praying that somehow you can make the door open, but you're only a kid and the despite the age of the house, the door is solid wood.

You're not going anywhere.

If you could see the door you'd glare at it, but with the power gone there's no light, and it's the darkness your father wants you to spend the night with, in hopes of curing you of your fear of it. But a storm is raging outside, and with every crack of thunder, every strike of lightning lights up the room, and when it fades the darkness just seems to rush in that much more quickly and that much darker, until you feel like you're in another world. A world locked away from the one outside, full of things you can't see but plenty of things you can hear. Creaks and skitterings and scratchings; there are mice in here you're sure, the house plenty old enough for that, but it would so much more reassuring if you could see them, that you could _know_ that's what it was and not something else…

Wait…

….was that a footstep….


	5. The Worst Foe

People were idiots, that's all there was to it.

That was the thought crossing Norman's mind as he took the elevator up to the top floor of Oscorp headquarters. His primary home was an estate outside of the city, but to save himself having to commute to the office every day he'd had the top floor of his company headquarters turned into a penthouse apartment and Norman stayed there during the week, and just went to his estate on the weekends. It was very convenient, especially since he tended to lose track of the time and would often work long hours if there was a project going on, which there usually was. There was rarely a slow moment at Oscorp; his company was a well-oiled machine where everyone knew their job and did it well, and Norman wouldn't have it any other way.

Now if only this campaign could work that way.

Norman had known when he first decided to throw his hat in the ring for the presidential election that things wouldn't be easy. Oscorp was the success it was because he'd had years to build it up, to find people who were the best in their fields and form them into a team. Unfortunately with this election he didn't have years. He hired people for his campaign staff who he'd heard were the best at what they did; they had proven track records running successful campaigns for other politicians, but could they manage to listen a few simple instructions and work together on this campaign? Noooooo.

 _Idiots. I have to do everything myself._ He thought to himself in disgust as the elevator reached his floor. Political flunkies were nothing like scientists. Yeah, scientists tended to fail miserably in the social skills department, but at least you could usually count on them to get the job done. And when he won the White House, it would be four years of dealing with almost nothing but political types. He could just see it now. 'President Osborn, I'd love to be able to do anything competently, but my family tree looks like two sticks jutting out of a dead raccoon' bunch of twits. Hitler never had this kind of trouble. People just did as he told them. Must've been nice.

The elevator let out into a small entryway. Norman didn't bother installing a door with a lock; this particular elevator only went up to the top floor, and it required a key to gain access. Past the entryway, the apartment opened up into a large, modern living room; the furnishings of which included a long, comfortable leather sofa and a very expensive entertainment center. Norman tossed his briefcase on the sofa before continuing on into the kitchen. Due to the election he was trying to eat healthy (this was not a good time to put on a few extra pounds) and so there was a salmon fillet wrapped in plastic in the refrigerator that had been thawing out since last night. He took that out now and seared it in a frying pan with olive oil and a few herbs. That combined with a salad was his dinner, and he ate that in the living room while watching the news. He cruised what he considered the important channels; Fox, CNN, BBC, Bloomberg, taking note on what was going on in the world and what was being said about the election in particular. So far so good. His numbers in the polls were respectable, despite half of his campaign staff acting like morons recently. If things didn't shape up soon he'd be cleaning house.

After dinner was put away Norman stretched out on the sofa again, rubbing his head. There was another headache coming on. They were coming more frequently. It had only been a few weeks since he'd had to go to the hospital since that lab accident, and he'd thought he'd healed completely, but then the headaches started coming and he couldn't think of anything else that could be causing it, unless one counted stress from the election. The experiment had been a complete success, even if it had blown up in his face, literally. The serum that was supposedly the same one that turned a ninety-eight pound weakling into the legendary Captain America actually worked. After his early (and what some people called miraculously early) release from the hospital, Norman had subjected himself to all sorts of tests, and found that not only was he now extraordinarily strong, he was also much faster than a normal human being. And the healing capability had already shown itself at the hospital, when he'd recovered from second and third degree chemical burns on his face and hands in a record matter of time. So the serum was definitely a success, right? Right. And he should be doing further testing in preparation for sale, right? Right.

Wellllll…..

When Norman had first found the serum, he'd originally intended to sell it to the U.S. military. The Department of Defense would practically sit up and beg for the opportunity to create super-soldiers for its armed forces. But after the accident, once Norman had experienced exactly what the serum could do, he found himself reluctant to part with it. The changes it had wrought inside of him were amazing; he was something more than human now, better, more than he'd ever dreamed of being. Why should he share this with others? No. Nobody should know about this. This was meant for him and him alone. He'd been meant to find it, to give him the power he'd always known he deserved.

Now if only he could do something about these headaches.

Getting up from the sofa, Norman went into the kitchen and downed a couple of aspirin with a glass of water before returning to the living room. One of the late night talk show hosts was on now; he didn't watch these shows usually and so didn't recognize who it was and at the same time didn't care. It was background noise and as he wasn't ready to go to bed yet, Norman stretched out on the couch again and closed his eyes, hoping the aspirin kicked in soon.

 _Some time later…_

He opened his eyes and looked around. The television was still going; some stupid shit that he didn't recognize and wouldn't give a damn about even if he did. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He was free. He could feel the part of himself that was Norman lying in the back of his mind, in the place where up until now he had resided. There was a difference between them though. Norman was currently in what could probably be best called a state of unconsciousness, and when he gave up control again Norman probably wouldn't remember what had happened while he was asleep at the wheel. On the other hand, when he was back there, he was still aware of what was going on. He was always aware. It was just that up until he'd never been able to do anything. He hadn't been strong enough, or maybe Norman hadn't been weak enough. Tonight, though. Tonight was different. Tonight he'd been able to break out of the part of Norman's mind where he usually was trapped and now he was in control. It wouldn't be for long. Norman had a strong personality and he didn't have enough strength to keep control for very long. Not yet anyway. He had a feeling that would change, now that he'd been able to make an initial breakthrough. He'd have to give back control eventually. But tonight was a trial run, a time to have a little fun.

 _Heh heh. I'm a poet and I don't know it._

'Wheeeee!' The man who was usually Norman Osborn cried in glee, and jumped up off the couch. 'Ding dong the dick is dead, the big old dick is dead' he sang in a horribly out of tune voice, doing a little jig around the couch. God was it ever annoying, having to sit in the back of Normie's mind and watch him play at being the big old powerful CEO all day. And now he wanted to be President? That was his idea of power? PFFFFT. The man had NO idea what REAL power was. But he'd show him. He'd show Normie all kinds of things. Not tonight, he didn't think he'd enough time to do everything he wanted, but eventually. He was Norman's greatest creation and the man didn't even know it yet.

But he would. Oh, would he ever.

But he needed a name, didn't he? All great heroes had a name, and all great villains too. So what was his name?

Actually, that didn't take too much thought. Deep down inside, down in the depths of Norman's darkest memories, he found his name. It was the nightmare of Norman's childhood, the dark creature who existed on the outskirts of his worst dreams, just waiting to be given life in the form of the new presence in Norman's mind, the part of himself that had split off when the serum took his genes and re-wrote them. Norman had been given power beyond his wildest dreams, but he didn't know how to handle it. But he did. And so he took upon himself his rightful name, the one that had been waiting for him all these years.

With a rather disturbing, childish giggle, the Green Goblin skipped off to Norman's bedroom. It was time to have a little fun.

 _The next morning…._

The alarm clock went off with its usual blare and Norman rolled over in his bed to slam it off. Wait…..when did he go to bed? The last thing he remembered was laying down on the couch last night, with his head aching. He must have been more tired than he thought, if he couldn't even remember crawling into bed. That wasn't like him at all. The sleep didn't seem to have done him any good either; Norman still felt as tired as he did last night, if not a little more so. At least his headache was gone. Norman stretched and sat up in his king-sized bed, and noticed for the first time that he was still in the clothes he'd worn yesterday. Now that was definitely not like him. He always changed into nightclothes to bed, even if it was just a pair of boxers, no matter how tired he was.

As much as it disturbed him, there really wasn't anything he could do about it now, and so Norman undressed and stepped into the shower. In the bright light of the bathroom was where he found another surprise, for he reached out to grab the soap he noticed dark material underneath his fingernails. Now he wasn't the type to have manicures, but Norman usually kept his nails trimmed and clean, professional-looking. Right now though, they looked as if he'd been digging into something dark, like dirt, maybe. Curious, he raised his hand and took a sniff, and was shocked to smell the distinct coppery scent of blood.

 _What the….?_

Truly unsettled now, Norman shut the water in the shower off, and uncaring of the fact that he was naked and dripping wet, strode back into his bedroom. He threw the sheets back and checked them and the pillows over, looking for any signs of blood. Was the headache so bad last night that he'd gotten a nosebleed? Had it actually been some sort of migraine? He examined the expensive white linen of his sheets and pillows carefully, but there was no sign of blood. He then went into the living and checked over where he'd been laying on the couch last night, but there was still no indication that he'd bled anywhere. This was not right. Not right at all. Norman returned to the bathroom and stepped back into the shower, not liking that there was something going on that he couldn't explain, couldn't control.

After his shower, Norman dressed and turned on the television in the living room before going into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. The morning news was on, and as he poured himself a glass of orange juice he heard the anchorwoman describe a murder that had taken place in the city overnight. Now this was nothing unusual; murders happened in New York both day and night, it was just a fact of life and Norman gave about as much thought to it as he did the price of tea in China. But as he listened to the details of the crime, he happened to look up at just the right moment to catch a picture of the victim. It was a young woman maybe in her early twenties, and while most of Norman's brain didn't recognize her at all, wouldn't have known her from anyone else in this city, wouldn't have even looked twice at her if they'd passed each other by, another part of him….knew her. It knew her very well, and a flash of memory exploded in Norman's mind. It was the girl, but instead of the smiling picture that some grieving family member had no doubt provided for the news station to show on the air, her face in his mind was contorted in fear, eyes wide and mouth open in a scream. Startled by the vividness of the image, the wicked glee and satisfaction that welled up in him at seeing that image, remembering that image, Norman dropped the glass of juice he was holding and stared at the television screen, horrified.

And somewhere deep in the back of his mind, something laughed.


	6. Manifest Destiny

Election Night

At Oscorp headquarters, the champagne flowed. In honor of the occasion Norman had opened up the company banquet hall and invited not only his campaign staff but any Oscorp employees who wanted to attend to enjoy a buffet dinner and watch the election results come in. Needless to say, the hall was packed. A good number of employees had volunteered their time during the campaign, working to get out the vote and so they had a decided interest in how this turned out. Besides, how many people could say that their boss had been elected President?

Norman spent the evening talking and even joking with his people, but of course the greater part of his attention was focused on the televisions that had been set up to show the results as they came in. There was a plate of food in front of him, but he only picked at it, not feeling very hungry. Was it really any surprise though? This was probably the most important night in his life so far. All throughout this election Norman had been so confident, so sure of himself; he knew that there was no way he could possibly lose. Was his resolve finally shaking, even a tiny bit? He supposed it could be considered understandable. The American people were a fickle lot, and not easy to pin down. What seemed like a sure thing today could be completely different tomorrow, and a set of voters that you thought you had in your pocket could change their minds at the last moment and swing the other way. He wouldn't be the first candidate to think he had it in the bag only to wind up with egg on his face. But he wasn't other candidates, was he?

No. He was Norman Osborn. And Norman Osborn did not lose when he wanted something. And he wanted this more than he'd ever wanted anything. Not just the Presidency, although that was a major part of it. The Presidency was just the beginning. It was a stepping stone to where he wanted to be. What was the old phrase? 'Today Germany, tomorrow the world'? Well, Germany had tried to take the position of top dog and failed. America on the other hand, would succeed. Everyone talked so fearfully about a new world order, that the UN or the European Union would come in and try to make this country assimilate with everyone else in the world and be under the thumb of some nebulous world leadership. They never thought to consider the possibility that America was meant to be in the lead of that world order, now did they? Of course not. The average person had no vision, just fears and conspiracy theories growing like mushrooms in the darkness of their minds, fed on the shit the media shoveled at them day in and day out. Norman was different. He was intelligent enough to see the possibilities out there, and with the help of the new role he was attempting to take on, he would be strong enough to grab them.

But that was for the future. Tonight was about new beginnings, and the opening of that door to his future.

The evening continued, and as each state was checked in, its electoral votes added to the score, the flickering of doubt inside of him faded and Norman's confidence returned in full force. He even managed to finish his dinner. Now he sat with his staff at the head table, sipping at a soda while the others had coffee or champagne. His secretary Ava was a few seats down, sharing a joke with her husband, who was the chief scientist in Oscorp's biochemical engineering division. Norman had thought about offering to take Ava with him when he goes to the White House, to serve as his secretary there; but with both of her sons still in school he knew that was a move she couldn't make. He supposed it was just as well. Should he take the Presidency, the board of directors that would run Oscorp during his time in office would need someone assisting them who knew what she was doing.

Then, all of a sudden, a hush fell over the room as one more state checked in, and everyone watched as the vote tally changed. The number that appeared on Norman's side of the screen burned into his mind. It was the magic number, 270, the number that he had the majority of the electoral votes.

The presidency was his.

The banquet room of Oscorp erupted into cheers, the noise swelling to fill the room as people hugged and clapped each other on the back. Norman sat quietly however, eyes fixed on the screen. Inside was no joyful noise such as what was going on around him. Instead it was quiet. A deep, peaceful quiet; the kind that one experiences when all is right with the world and everything was going exactly the way it should. Because all was right with Norman's world. It didn't matter now how anyone else voted. In a short amount of time he would be swearing an oath and moving into one of the most famous addresses in the world, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Coming back to himself, Norman shook hands with his staff and accepted the congratulations of those around him. His campaign manager proposed a toast and everyone lifted their glasses to salute the future President. His Secret Service detail, which up until now had remained stoically in their positions, keeping an eye on the room like the guard dogs that they were, now somehow managed to look even more protective. The head of the detail began making phone calls, probably to receive instructions on upgrading Norman's security now that he was the President-elect. Norman had just returned to his seat when his cellphone began to ring. Looking at the caller id display, he saw a number that he had only seen a few time before. It was the White House. Which meant only one thing, that soon to be ex-President Liu was calling him to concede the race. There most likely wouldn't be an official announcement until tomorrow morning, but everyone already knew that it was pretty much over.

"Good evening Mr. President." Norman answered the phone. _Enjoy hearing that while it lasts…_

He listened to Andrew Liu on the other end of the line. "Yes. I agree. And thank you for saying so, it was a well-fought race." Norman spoke with Liu for a few more moments, before finally disconnecting the call. Was he being too polite to someone who only days ago he had been condemning as if from a pulpit? Not really. The race was over, and since he had won he could afford to be gracious. Liu's time was over. And Norman Osborn's was about to begin.


	7. The View From Up Here

The Oval Office

"Five minutes until your meeting with the Cabinet, Mr. President." came the voice of Norman's personal secretary through the speaker phone. Smooth and well-modulated in her tones, Gail Ingall had no real accent to her voice, and Norman wondered if she'd had it trained out. Gail was perfectly competent at her job; a political science major, she'd served as the assistant to one of his campaign managers during the election. She was no Ava though, and Norman found in the past few months since he'd taken office that he missed his secretary from Oscorp. If Ava had come to Washington, DC with him however, he probably would have made her his Chief of Staff rather than just his personal secretary. Having two young sons in school and a husband at Oscorp all back in New York made that impossible though, and so instead Norman accepted Ava's recommendation of Gail to bring with him to DC. So far he had no real complaints in her choice.

Five minutes was something rare; five free minutes in a President's insane schedule was like filet mignon after eating Ramen for a week. Technically it wasn't really free; Norman could think of any number of things he could be doing right now. There were phone calls to return, letters to read; everyone wanted the President's time, and there simply weren't enough hours in the day to accommodate it all.

Did Norman regret it, taking the oath of office and stepping up as the most powerful man in the United States, which made him pretty much the most powerful man in the world? Oh, there were definitely days where he did miss some things. He could no longer be a scientist, and there were days when he missed being able to stay up late in the labs at Oscorp working on a project. He missed being able to drive himself, and while the Presidential limo was very nice, there was a car from Carroll Shelby's estate up for sale and even if he bought it now (which he was tempted to put an anonymous bid in for) he wouldn't be able to touch it until he was out of office.

And there were things he hated about his job. Constant pressure he was used to from being a CEO of a very successful company, but at Oscorp headquarters he didn't have to watch his mouth. If someone pissed him off, he could let them know about it right then and there in no uncertain terms. Norman couldn't do that here in Washington. Every move he made, every word that came out of his mouth, was watched, scrutinized, and broadcast over the internet for everyone to dissect and talk about. Some of these morons with the money to buy a computer and just enough brain cells to figure out how to use it, sometimes he just wanted to knock their heads together (he had similar feelings about Congress, but we won't even get started on that). Some of the stuff that was brought to his attention as having been said online, it just made him wonder if they were fastening their tinfoil hats too tightly and cutting off the blood flow to their brains. No, he was not a member of the KKK, had never been a member of the KKK, and he really didn't like the pictures of him that were floating around online, where he'd been Photoshopped to look like he was wearing a tall white hat and robes. He also was not a member of the Illuminati and was not secretly having the Oscorp labs work on cloning super-soldiers to enforce martial law on the American people while he announced his takeover of the world (although that was an interesting idea….).

So basically yes, there were things Norman did not like about his position. But there were other things, things that made up for it. The sound of the words 'President Norman Osborn'. The stamp with his face on it that the Postal Service was talking about issuing. Celebrating Independence Day in the nation's capital, with him in the seat of honor while fireworks went off overhead. Hosting the annual White House Science Fair and seeing the future of American technology and science in the little minds there. With Christmas coming there would be the lighting of the White House tree, and Norman also hoped to have Congress voting soon on the Mutant Registration Act. The discussion was fast and furious, but he thought that eventually he could get the nation's lawmakers to toe the line and go in the direction he wanted. It would all happen.

But for now, Norman had five…no, make that three minutes now, in which to do as he pleased. Pressing the button on his phone, he spoke as soon as his secretary answered. "Gail, a fresh pot of coffee please." After the Cabinet meeting was a brief interview with CNN, and he was going to need caffeine to deal with the liberal media. Getting up from his desk, Norman went over to one of the windows and looked out over the smooth, perfectly manicured lawn surrounding his office. With fall coming the leaves were starting to turn, and here and there a colored leaf could be seen dotting the landscape. Black squirrels looked for fallen nuts. He couldn't see from here, but Norman knew that out on the street the people of America were going about their business, the little sheep of his flock hustling and bustling, all under the watch of his leadership.

Yes, it was a beautiful view.


End file.
